


Desiderium

by spookyscullyy



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Cancer Arc, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3254888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyscullyy/pseuds/spookyscullyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>maybe it wasn't enough, but it was all they had | post-"memento mori"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desiderium

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me,  
And all this devotion was rushing out of me,  
And the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me,  
But the arms of the ocean deliver me.

Though the pressure's hard to take,  
It's the only way I can escape,  
It seems a heavy choice to make,  
Now I am under.

And it's breaking over me,  
A thousand miles down to the sea bed,  
Found the place to rest my head.

\- "Never Let Me Go" Florence + the Machine 

 

As soon as she heard the knock, she knew it was him. The jaunty shave and a haircut rhythm belied by a certain kind of hesitancy. He always seemed worried she wouldn’t answer, although he always greeted her with a grin as soon as she opened the door. Today was the closest she had ever come to confirming his fears and ignoring his call. She was exhausted, drained, and unable to put on her usual face. Her mother had left a mere 15 minutes ago, which Scully suspected Mulder knew. 

She appreciated his worry, but every fiber of her being shied away from this feeling. She had done such a good job of staying strong and stoic for everyone: Bill Jr., her mother, even the doctors. Her face had become heavy and clumsy now, and she didn’t think seeing Mulder was the best thing right now. Picturing him standing outside her door, though, hands in pockets, bottom lip pouting out (he couldn’t help himself sometimes), dark circles under his eyes, she gave in. She tightened the sash around her room, shuffled over to the door, pulled back the security chain, and let him in. 

She gasped. He looked worse than she felt. She was right, he did have dark circles under his eyes, and his hands were deep in his pockets, but it was so much more than that. He looked at her with the desperate thirst of a man crawling through the desert, as if trying to convince himself she really was standing there; that she wasn’t a mirage. His heavy eyes were puffy, and there were angry red marks where she supposed he had tried to brush away the tears a little too hard. He was hunched over and leaning against her doorframe as if the mere effort of standing were too much. 

This made her surprisingly, unbearably angry. It wasn’t fair, how dare he. She was supposed to be the one breaking apart and he was supposed to be the one putting back the pieces. What gave him the right to split apart while she was spending all of her energy trying to stop herself from giving in to the pain. She didn’t want to be the stoic one, why couldn’t someone take care of her? Seeing him like this had made her completely forget that mere moments ago she had promised herself that she would continue on for his sake.  
Mulder looked at her face while all this was running through her mind in the seconds he stood on her threshold. Scully betrayed none of her inner turmoil, her round face strained and almost translucently pale, but no more upset that the situation warranted. He took a shaky breath and was about to apologize for his appearance when she gave a strangled sort of howl and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him inside her apartment and slamming the door with more force than he thought she was currently capable. Then again, she always showed more strength than he expected, he needed to give her more credit. Especially now. 

“Scully, I –

“No. Stop. Don’t.” Scully had placed her hands upon one of her nearby kitchen chairs, needing the stability the wood provided. She wished she had decided not to answer the knock after all. 

“Scully, I needed to see you. I should’ve called first, I’m sorry. I know you’re probably wiped out, what with your mother visiting and everything,” Scully sighed. She knew he had been watching her building. She wanted to feel angry about that too, but she didn’t. He only cared deeply, in his own way. 

“I appreciate that Mulder. You’re right. I’m very tired, and I was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed for a change.” She wanted him to leave, and hoped he would get the hint so she didn’t need to be too direct. Her eyes flicked to her bedroom, thinking of the sweet release of sleep. She wanted to forget. 

Mulder, of course, knew what she was thinking. He usually did. But he decided to be selfish, just this once, and keep her awake, and with him. He knew he was being silly, and probably suffering from a combination of lack of sleep and nutrients substituted with stress and adrenaline. He felt tied to Scully, unbearably connected to her by fragile strings at the heart and head that pulled taut and painful. His eyes lingered over the way her small hands clutched at the seatback, and the gaping looseness of the robe that had once fit her so snugly. He knew that if he tried to speak anymore the words would block the space in his throat he desperately needed for air. Instead, he shuffled forward, every step necessitating a deep effort. He took a rattling breath and steeled himself. He owed it to her to pull it together. He needed to be touchstone, for once. 

Scully saw him straighten and saw warmth return to his face. By the time he raised his arms to engulf her, she sensed what was coming and had chosen to give in. She really was so tired, and the rushing flash of anger she had felt was genuine but misdirected, and it had wiped out any desire to resist. She felt her heart sync up to his, and gave herself into his embrace. This was much like the hug in the hallway of the hospital, but more pregnant with knowledge. They had had enough time to fully process what was happening to her, and they didn’t have the pressure of strangers wandering by or the oppressive smell of the dead and dying. Except her own, she supposed. 

She pressed her face to his chest in a sincere effort to meld herself permanently to his form. This feeling sickened her, but she needed him. His mind contained demons, ghosts, and sorrows, just like hers but different. If it meant she could leave all of this behind, she would should some of his burden, just as he shouldered hers. Mulder always said that he owed her everything, and she owed him nothing. Scully knew he meant these words, but he didn’t understand. In his arms, heavy but gentle around her, she could feel the responsibility he felt. For this, for her condition, for everything that had happened to them. She wanted to scream, to punch, to rend everything apart, so that he would see she didn’t regret anything that occurred since she walked into that basement. She considered herself an equal partner in all events. Mulder had led the way at first, but she had covered his back, listened to his speeches, and supplied support and strength. She had run after him the whole way, he had never dragged her. Whatever it was that connected them, the bond went both ways. She was as incapable of leaving him, and the x files, and starting a normal life, as he was of abandoning Samantha. 

Mulder hugged her for as long as he was able. The beat of her heart was terrifying to him. So persistent, but at what cost? He imagined he could feel it having to work harder and harder to keep her upright the longer they stood in the kitchen. It was all his fault. He added this to the list of heavy reasons why he didn’t deserve to sleep anymore. He pulled back, finally, afraid that just being there would make her worse somehow. This had been a terrible idea; she was the one who kept him sane, and he gave her nothing in return. What had he been expecting from this visit? He unwrapped himself from around her thin frame, and stepped back, clearing his throat. He was about to say goodbye and run, when he noticed her swaying. 

“Scully? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mulder. I just need a moment,” Her voice seemed far away, as though it was travelling through a barrier of hospital gauze. He stood there uncertainty, not wanting to leave her, but unwilling to encroach any further into her space. He saw her face turn a terrifying shade of gray, and watched as she hurriedly slipped into her hall bathroom. The silence made a vacuum keeping him rooted in place, until he heard the pathetic hacking sound and the flush of a toilet. Her body had inserted a violent reminder that everything was not, in fact, okay. 

Scully groaned and wiped her mouth. She was about to grab the toothpaste hastily when everything went fuzzy and she lost her grip on the sink, hurtling towards the tile with an unstoppable force. She didn’t make a sound. 

Mulder heard the smack and found his footing, racing the short way to her bathroom. “Scully!” His heart was beating wildly, trying to join her own, on the floor. He gently held her for a few seconds until her eyes fluttered, blessedly. 

“I’m sorry I must have…” She was trying to brush it off, to make him feel better. Enough, he thought, and quietly placed a finger over her lips. He slid his arms under her slight frame and lifted her as gently as he could. He almost started to cry again as he was confronted with how small and withered her body felt curled into his chest, but stopped himself, knowing that she would never want him to think of her that way. 

Scully stayed quiet and let Mulder set her down gently in her bed. She tried to keep the wincing and gasps to a minimum. If he knew how much he was hurting, he would hurt even more. If there was one thing she could do, it was make sure only one of them was suffering. She looked up at her partner, prepared to wish him a goodnight and tell him to lock the door on his way out. She stopped, and audibly gasped. Mulder was standing at the edge of her bed, looking into her eyes with a strangled, needy glare. He was looking at her as though she was the only thing keeping him upright, and if he looked away he would crumble.She motioned to the space next to her and whispered, “Here.” 

Mulder looked at her with the relief of a man released from death-row, but with a sadness that suggested he thought she had taken his place instead. He scooted next to her, aligning himself perfectly with her body, but not coming close enough to touch. He was afraid, she knew. She decided to help him, and gingerly inched back until everything locked into place. They both let out breathes they were unaware they were keeping, and shared each other’s warmth. It hurt to be this close, but it hurt more to be apart. 

His mind was calm. Not a true calm, but a calm that afforded clarity that he had not had since before Scully’s first nosebleed. He was done leeching, always taking everything she offered and even more she was unaware of. He was done being the cause of all her bruises, all of the sleepless nights and the forgotten meals. He could give something, he thought. It was not in his nature to nurture or be warm and comforting. He would never be good for her, or anyone, in the long run. However, he didn’t have to consider this in the long term. By the time their love turned toxic she would be gone, and he could deal with the pain himself, he always did. It was the least he could do. Each jagged memory would keep her alive, even after her brain had turned against her. 

Scully felt him shift slightly, so that the beat of his heart bounced off her shoulder and made her ears ring. His hands removed themselves from between their bodies and one went under her ribcage while the other circled around her waist. She couldn’t help the sigh that feathered past her clenched jaws. She didn’t trust herself to speak. His hand moved from her waist to her neck, and smoothed back the matted hair from her clammy neck. She shivered. He breathed gently, gently on her neck and then lay his lips softly on the nape of her neck. Scully saw the flames licking around them, threatening to engulf her completely. She looked into the darkness and decided to jump; Mulder would catch her. As she closed her eyes and willed herself still, letting the exhaustion numb her bones but set her skin on fire, Mulder continued his fragile kisses down her back. He untied the knot of her robe and gingerly unwrapped her body. As the robe was set aside, and he began to do this same to her cotton pajamas, Scully felt as though maybe those flimsy layers of material had been the only thing keeping her together; as if she had been a collection of loose fragments all along. Now his arms were the only thing keeping her from drifting directly into the path of the flames and disintegrating completely. He moved as if he knew this as well. As he kissed her collarbone and shifted to hover on top of her, she kept her eyes shut fast. If she saw his eyes, she would come undone, and she was unsure if she would ever return. 

She was completely bare, before him and before herself. Each wet kiss was heavy with life. Mulder was breathing his strength into her, trying to rip himself apart to heal her. He felt as raw as an open wound, and he needed his blood to pour over her, to give her the life that he could feel seeping out of her into the bed. He saw the tears leaking from her closed eyes and kissed them away too, relishing the sharp tang on salt. He kneaded her, caressed her, and roughly tried to restart the circulation that would bring back color to skin. He buried himself in the hollow of her collarbone and tried to convince himself that this was enough. He took in deep, racking breaths, and reveled in the scent of her, a scent that was not overpowered by the death in his nostrils, or the sour note of her body’s rebellion. He was worshipping her in what little ways he was capable, and in what small displays she would allow. 

Scully finally moaned the smallest of moans, barely loud enough to discern. It was too much, to feel his need, to know the way in which he wanted so much to chain her to him, and to the earth. His desperate hope smothered her, and she could feel the flames around them intensify, keeping her bare body warm. She was still crying, her body reflecting emotions she could not give voice or thought to. 

Mulder responded and reminded himself that this was not about what he needed, but what he could give her. His mouth moved downwards from her collarbone as his arms continued to hold her up softly from the bed and cradled in the small circle their bodies made. He paid as much attention as he could to each ripple and change in her body, to each freckle, scar, and dent. He washed her stomach in their shared tears, willing her to surrender, and reveling in the slow release of tension he felt in each of her joints. He wanted her to let go.  
Finally, he reached his destination and breathed again. Scully was crying in earnest now, but she opened herself up and laid a soft hand in his hair, eyes still shut. He gave her what he could, trying to communicate his admiration for her resilience, while relaying his message to god to keep her here. His actions were filled with anger, desperation, and fear, but his movements were unhindered by his brain. She did not deserve to be infected by this poison. Soon, she shuddered, and he moved back towards her trembling chin, and covered her in her robe. There was an understanding between them now, a pulsing knowledge that repelled them both, and as always, bound them together. Scully looked into the flames, and balanced on the edge of immolation, while Mulder felt a searing burn as the strings connecting them singed. As he laid back down to give her whatever shelter his arms could provide, they both knew it wasn’t enough. But it was all they had.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first bit of writing I'd done in over a year, but the cancer arc grabbed me and wouldn't let go.


End file.
